


To the Day This Life Ends

by mickeylover303



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2019-08-25 14:42:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16662795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeylover303/pseuds/mickeylover303
Summary: For Sasuke, he'll always be there.





	To the Day This Life Ends

He wears one of Itachi’s older shirts still too large for him.  A blue light and pale, the shirt swathes a tiny chest and even tinier limbs, overwhelming the fragile body of his little brother standing next to their mother kneeled beside him on the floor.

 

“It certainly is a good fit,” she says, adjusting the collar resting precariously low around Sasuke’s neck.  With a gentle smile, she pushes back the hair framing his face.  “What do you think?”

 

“Nn.”  He gives a slow but agreeable nod, turning his head.  Glancing over his shoulder, he peers down, staring at the shirt’s hem dragging along the floor.  He emits a small gasp as unsteady legs threaten to fold beneath him, but he’s already reaching for their mother with fingers digging into the material of her sleeve.

 

Small features reflect the strain of a determination not to fall.  Slowly, his grip begins to loosen, although he doesn’t let go just yet.

 

“Sasuke won’t fall, ‘kaasan,” he mutters, mouth forming into an impressive moue reflecting the kind of resolve to be expected from a one year old too quickly approaching two. Not quite stern eyes slightly narrowed oppose the unobtrusive concern on their mother’s face, almost challenging her to say otherwise.

 

She concedes with a soft hum.  Her expression this time is placating, yet there’s a more subtle amusement dancing in her eyes while gentle hands once more make an unsuccessful attempt to adjust the shirt enveloping Sasuke.

 

Lingering behind the door to Sasuke’s room left ajar, from among the shadows Itachi continues to watch.  He allows himself for a moment to smile, allows the unbidden tension from his body to ebb a little more at the sight of his brother swamped in the shirt more akin to the fit of a dress.  Leaned against the wall, the arms across his chest begin to unfold, and he affords himself another smile, sharing a brief glance with his mother.

 

“Of course Sasuke-chan won’t fall,” she says, giving Sasuke a reassuring nod when small fingers hesitate to release their hold on her sleeve.  “With your birthday coming up, and your penchant to create a mess in my kitchen every time you take it upon yourself to cook, you’re practically a man now, aren’t you?”

 

Standing on his own, if not a little sullen, Sasuke peers down, clutching Itachi’s shirt caught in a taut fist.  His arm falls to the side when he raises his head, mouth settling into a near frown.  Probing eyes watch their mother with a dark gaze eerily resembling her own.  “...like ‘niisan?”

 

“You wanted to emulate ‘kaasan yesterday, then ‘tousan the day before, but today is ‘niisan, is it?” she says, hands patting both knees covered by her apron.  “Well, since it seems ‘niisan’s arrived home from training early, it’s best that you should greet him properly, ne.”

 

Carefully turning to face the doorway, Sasuke squints to glimpse at the person still concealed from his view.  He comes to a standstill, however, when the door is further pushed open to gradually reveal his older brother poised in the threshold.

 

Silence greets Itachi as he enters the room.  Hands folded over her lap, his mother graces him with a smile achingly warm.  It’s a haunting comfort, for both its familiarity and the recent awareness in her distinction between himself and his little brother.  He offers his own smile on the verge of elapse, a weary gesture already beginning to fray at the edges.  Yet his soft murmur of _tadaima_ does no less than immediately compel a wide-eyed Sasuke forward.

 

_Niisan_ is the beginning of an excited cry, quickly developing into a mantra growing louder as hurried steps lead Sasuke away from their mother.

 

He hobbles at first.  Arms outstretched, he struggles to maintain his balance.  He’s still unaccustomed to the motions of walking, bare feet pattering across the floor and trudging at too eager a pace.  It’s inevitable that he’ll fall.  And he does.  No more than a few steps from the threshold, he begins to sway, but even at the age of seven Itachi’s skills are remarkably honed, and he’s in front of his brother before Sasuke’s head hits the corner of the bedside table.

 

The throbbing in Itachi’s chest echoes his mother’s audible sigh of relief.  Despite the near tumble, his little brother continues to smile, continues to reach for him with grubby little fingers the bearers of a surprisingly strong grip tugging on his shirt.

 

“Niisan...”

 

There’s a flicker of awe in Sasuke’s eyes, an ignorance he yearns for his brother to keep, yet beneath the heaviness of such a persistently credulous gaze, held in the arms too small to circle his waist, he’s filled with a quiet trepidation he can’t quite place when Sasuke buries his face into the damp material of his shirt.

 

“...okaeri.”


End file.
